


A Flowering Branch

by fourthduckling



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Changelings, Drama, F/F, Faeries - Freeform, Falling In Love, Growing Up, Kid Fic, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourthduckling/pseuds/fourthduckling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora is unhappy and refuses to say why. Lydia refuses to let her go, even if it means following her into the faerie realm. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Flowering Branch

**Author's Note:**

> For awryendings and anyone else who would like some Cora/Lydia. I'm only slightly sorry there's not more baby in this baby fic. I got distracted by the romance. And by faeries.
> 
> Primary Pairing/Character(s): Cora/Lydia  
> Trope(s) Used: Kid!fic  
> Submitted by: awryendings.tumblr.com  
> Prompt: Somehow, Cora and Lydia get saddled with a baby. Lydia is understandably unhappy, but Cora won’t let her skimp on her ‘responsibilities.’  
> Additional Info: All hail accidental baby acquisition! The baby can be temporary or permanent.
> 
> Big thanks to my beta, elephantine. You know I adore you.
> 
> You can follow me at smartpeoplewatchtv.tumblr.com if you like random TV stupidity.

Cora is waiting on the front step holding a baby when Lydia pulls into the driveway. 

"You came," she says, sounding surprised. 

It's ridiculous that Cora would still be incredulous when Lydia displays loyalty. They've known each other for years now, and have officially been friends for months. It's a different kind of friendship than the easy, feminine relationship she shares with Allison. It's something closer to how she feels about Stiles. But it's different. It's something she has yet to dissect. "I said I would," she snaps, closing the car door with her hip. "Did you think I would lie to you?" 

"No," Cora says, which is blatantly a lie. You can always tell when she's lying-- her brown eyes dart sideways and her mouth goes slack with pretend seriousness. Those are the only times that Lydia thinks she looks ugly. It's her honesty, her straightforwardness that makes her beautiful. Cora shifts the baby, who is blinking sleepily. "I'm just... I thought you'd have better things to do." 

"Like...what? Brush my hair?" She's already been accepted to MIT. The only things left for her are final exams at BHHS. Quite frankly, brushing her hair would be more entertaining than studying for those. Cora's call had been something of a relief, despite her lack of clarification ( _there is a problem over at 4436 White Alder Way, please come as fast as you can Lydia I can't handle this on my own_ ).  And she likes Cora, despite the fact that she's a Hale and a werewolf and sometimes just plain infuriating. Somewhere in there, Lydia thinks, between the like and the frustration is the truth to their relationship. 

"Come here," Cora demands. "Look at this." 

"It's a baby," Lydia says flatly. It's cute, for sure, with skin the color of honey, little pouting lips and a nose red-tipped in the March chill. It's nothing to freak out about and-- say-- force your friend out of her nice, warm bedroom.

Cora moves back under the porch light. "It's a changeling," she says. "Again." She jiggles the baby until it stirs, eyes opening wide, little mouth working into a yawn. It looks up at her with a seriousness that could easily move to discomfort if she isn't careful. 

Cora allows her eyes to go gold, shining distinctly despite the warm light overhead. 

The baby suddenly coos and laughs, while its skin changes. It cracks and peels back, revealing an undertone of green that's veined and rough. It looks, more than anything, like a compressed pile of leaves with two huge, gleaming black eyes. It lifts a little hand made of twigs and grabs at the air below Cora's chin. She jerks her head up and out of the way. "We have to take this baby  _back_  and get the real Devon before Mrs. Gonzales comes home from the party." 

Back, of course, meant into the land of the faerie. They'd done this before. When a child from the elementary school had gotten snatched and replaced, they'd ventured into the faerie realm as a pack. Scott had led the charge (of course), and once they'd gotten into the realm the exchange of faerie child for human child had been quick. "Scott said we weren't supposed to go there again," Lydia says, trying not to think of the things she saw while tangled in the faerie realm. 

"Actually," Cora says, "he said we weren't supposed to go back there  _alone_." 

The changeling's skin shifts back to human, the change happening in quick, spotty patterns like ripples in a pond. He reaches up for Cora's chin again, and his hand lands in her glossy dark hair. He burbles happily. 

If it was anyone else, Lydia would say no. She had been the only one to see the truth of the faerie world and it was an ugly, brutal place. It isn't something she wants to experience again. But this is Cora, and Cora is stubborn. She is going to go one way or another. It's one of the things that Lydia likes most about her. They would, of course, be safest together. They both know that. Still. "You could have called Stiles," Lydia says, tossing her hair back. 

"Yeah, but then...  _Stiles_ ," Cora says with a slight roll of her eyes, and Lydia has to agree. 

"Fine. But it's going to be quick. Do you think you can catch the scent of the real baby once we get in there? Last time you all seemed to have trouble with that." Last time they'd been wandering for hours (days) bumping into each other and getting lost in the rain and the fog. The werewolves had been particularly confused when they met the faeries, as if the mere presence of so many of them overwhelmed their senses. It was largely Scott's fault for getting them involved in the first place, though Stiles held a good deal of the blame for forgetting to bring a gift for the lavender-eyed path guardian. 

"Yes, I can do it this time." Cora sounds sincere, which boosts Lydia's confidence that they can get in and out in a relatively short amount of time. "If we stay out of large groups of faeries, it will be fine. And I know your scent well enough to avoid mistaking you for him." And then she blushes. It's a beautiful thing watching her blush, mostly because it's so awkward. The red rises in her cheeks in a blotchy sunrise of feelings and sails to a high noon in the tips of her ears.

Lydia wonders at the blush, and the wondering makes her stomach twist. To cover up her own discomfort, she unlocks the car and starts rummaging around in her glove compartment for a gift. There is a pack of Reese's that she left in there in case of blood sugar (or chocolate) emergency and she pulls it out. "Gift," she explains. 

Last time, when Stiles forgot a gift for passage, they'd been left to wander  in rain and fog until Derek finally gave the path guardian his Henley. They'd found their way after that. The rest of the trip had been smoother, but also uncomfortably sexier. 

Devon squirms and fusses, his little face wrinkling and smoothing. Cora settles him over her shoulder and pats his back gently. He squirms a little more and grabs at her neck before pressing his face against her shoulder and calming down. "Should we bring diapers?" 

"No," Lydia says with as much sarcasm as she can muster, feeling suddenly too big for her skin. "I want to be completely diaper-less when we get the real Devon back." She can't seem look at Cora cuddling Devon without wanting to be a part of it, so she stares off into the woods behind the house.

Cora gives her a wounded look. "Fine. Just hold him while I go pack his bag." She dumps Devon into Lydia's arms where he clings to her like a little barnacle. Well, a big barnacle. He's heavy, and smells just like a baby should-- all powders and spilled milk with an undertone of cinnamon chai.

Cora's scent. 

He doesn't seem to mind being passed off to Lydia. He just huffs a little and grabs onto her hair. The painful yank has her instantly re-evaluating how she's holding him. She lifts a hand instead, and he instantly shoves a finger into his mouth. For a moment, she wants to scream, remembering needle-sharp teeth in gaping maws, but all he does is suck contentedly and pull at the rest of her hand. 

Once he has settled, her thoughts turn elsewhere. She can't help but look up at the house, wondering about Cora. Of their little pack, she is the only one going to Beacon Hills Community College. She's also the only one of them who would still be living at home after graduation. If you can call Derek's moldy apartment or burned out house home. 

When they'd first met, Lydia had thought of Cora differently. But it turns out that you can't major in Werewolf Subcultures with a minor in Tank Tops, and Cora's attention was less on schoolwork and more on being a better beta. Even after Derek's impromptu study sessions, she'd still barely gotten in. A track and field scholarship aided by her werewolf powers helped her squeak through.

Suddenly, Lydia aches for her, wondering if Cora feels lonely already. The rest of the pack will be off at different schools. She'll be here holding down the fort with Derek and Deaton while Scott and Stiles go south, Allison goes north, and Lydia goes east with Danny (who, while technically not part of the pack, is still One Of Them). They'll see each other on holidays-- maybe. 

Lydia's ache becomes her own, and she drowns it by pressing her face against the top of Devon's head. He makes happy little smacking sounds with his mouth.

Cora returns quick enough that Lydia hasn't fully succumbed to her sorrow. She's a welcome sight, even with the diaper duffel over her shoulder and a bottle tucked in her pocket. It's endearing, really, that she thinks of this when the baby isn't even human. Endearing. And frustrating. 

"Come on," Lydia says, tapping a foot. Devon seems to like this and releases her fingers to coo and wave his little hands around. He's awfully cute when you ignore the fact that his people steal children and replace them with their own. "We haven't got much time left." She holds out the baby. 

"Nuh uh." Cora shakes her head. "I've got the baby ..." she pats the bag and searches for a word before deciding on, "stuff, so you get to carry him." 

Devon lets out an unhappy cry at the way he's being held, and Lydia pulls him back against her. It takes only a few moments of cradling him before he slides happily into contentment. "Fine. But if he pukes on my sweater, you are buying me a new one."

 

The entrance to the faerie realm is a fifteen minute walk from the Gonzales house. Years ago, Lydia would have been scared to be out in the woods alone at night. But training has helped her hone her instincts so that she can predict the future with a fair amount of accuracy. Part of that is due to her genius-level intellect, and part is due to her banshee nature. It helps, too, that she's seen more in the past couple of years than many people see in their lifetime. Practice with supernatural creatures, as it is said, makes perfect.

Cora takes point, her keen werewolf better at searching out immediate danger than Lydia's predictions. Cora moves through the woods like cat rather than a wolf. She's a predator, no doubt, but one that is used to hunting on her own instead of relying on others. Her family is like that-- individuals. Lydia supposes this is why Scott is a better pack leader than Derek. She's beautiful, Lydia thinks, shifting Devon up so that he drools on her shoulder instead of over her chest. 

The walk isn't far, but finding the portal itself proves to be slightly more challenging. 

"It was up a hill," Lydia says, remembering Stiles pushing her out, and falling forward to have Cora catch her. It's a thought she played over in her head. The scent of Cora's clothes had been exotic, almost spicy, as if she washed her clothes in chai. It's with a sudden sense of longing that she realizes she likes that scent, and that she'll miss it when she goes off to MIT in a few months. 

This is the first time she's not wanted to go.

"Here, maybe." Cora sticks her hand through a hole between a tree and a rock, only to see it come out the other side. She tries again in the place where two boulders form a perfectly human-sized hole. 

"Try that one," Lydia points between two trees. 

It proves to be as fruitless as the first two tries. 

When there is no effect, the bones in Cora's face ripple in frustration. She lets the wolf in her take over. She dashes from place to place, poking her head in holes and divides almost faster than Lydia can see. Nothing up the hill seems to be working. 

Time, Lydia thinks, is their enemy. 

"Don't you remember?!" she roars finally, standing too close to Lydia. There's something here-- something happening that Cora won't name. 

"No, I don't!" Lydia snaps back.

"You should! You're supposed to be a genius," she spits out. Her face trembles at the nose like an angry wolf. 

That makes Lydia angry. "I _am_ a genius," she sneers. 

"Yeah well-- _remember_! We're running out of time!" 

For a moment, Lydia thinks she sees tears in Cora's golden eyes. It's strange, and makes her feel-- something. The rage in her is quick to disappear, but it's replaced by that hollow something. She can't put a finger on it. Sorrow, maybe, for her friend. Or maybe sorrow for herself. Calmly, she says, "It's going to be fine." And then, because Cora looks like she's going to go off again, "Don't take it out on me. I didn't swap a baby for a bundle of leaves." 

"Yeah but--" 

"And I came when you asked me to." She squares her jaw. "So stop."   

In the end it's Devon who saves them by waking up suddenly. He looks behind them, further back down the slope, and his eyes go a deep, happy black as he stretches his whole body towards a natural hole formed by a tree's large branch meeting its trunk. Lydia has to steady herself against the slope, as he's heavy despite his size. His skin ripples, and Lydia finds that when it does, he feels rougher and colder-- a child made of tightly twined leaves. He smells like Cora, as if his little body is attempting to mimic her. She bends in and sniffs deep of the spicy scent overlaying his general smell of leaves and kisses his forehead.

"This is it." Cora pokes at the hole between the tree and its branch which suddenly turns to something. 

There's almost a physical twist in Lydia's stomach when she looks at it. It's the kind of thing that Lovecraft wrote about, an impossible blue hole built out of cyclopean angles (and yes, she did read those and every other classic horror book she could get her hands on just so that she would be prepared in case the Elder Gods came to Beacon Hills just like every other godforsaken creature). "Are you sure that's it?" she asks, despite knowing the answer.

She's disappointed when Cora nods, her face smoothing from half-wolf to full human. "Yes. What else could it be?"

Lydia steps up and puts a hand on her arm. Under her fingers, Cora is warm. "You remember what it was like to be there." 

"Yeah," Cora says, her face eerily blue in the faint light emitting from the portal. She close to Lydia now, her dark brows tilted down in concern. She turns, eyes flicking down over Lydia's face, and then back up to meet her gaze. "It was like being stuck in a dream." With that, she turns and slips through the hole. 

Lydia is of the opinion that Hawking was right when he claimed that alternate universes are a possibility. In an alternate universe, Jackson could still be her boyfriend. Derek could still be the awful Alpha that Stiles claims he was. Scott could still be human. And Lydia might not be standing here with a fake Devon, thinking about how Cora had been close enough to kiss. But this is the real world. Universe prime. 

Lydia takes a breath and steps through. 

The world she steps into seems normal enough. It's still night, still chilly, and the trees still are trees. But Lydia is smart and observant. There are bones here, hidden under the shadows of the grass, and not all of them are animal bones. But then she sees Cora, face turned up, and Lydia tilts her head back to see the sky. 

The stars are moving. More than that, they're dancing to some unknown rhythm, swirling around each other in a Van Gogh impression of the sky in the real world. They had not been able to see this last time with the rain and the fog clouding the air. Suddenly, she's glad she came.

"We didn't see this before, did we?" Cora's face is full of the kind of rapture you only see in paintings. 

"No," Lydia says. They're doing more than moving. They're singing. Devon makes little humming sounds that are half melodic and she thinks that maybe he is trying to sing along. He is fully a faerie here, no human pretense clinging to him. While he looked strange and out of place back at the Gonzales house, he's lovely here, a creature made to live in a world where the stars sing over old bones.

Cora looks at her, and it seems to Lydia that her eyes catch the stars. They glitter, dark and pretty in the strong lines of her face. For a moment, it looks like she wants to say something. But she just shifts the bag on her shoulder and starts off down the glimmering path that leads inevitably to the center of the world. 

Lydia follows behind, thinking about stars rather than bones. Devon's body vibrates with his humming. 

It's not long before a path guardian appears. It's not like last time-- a lavender-eyed woman with long hair and a face made of bark. It's a tall, spindly faerie with two extra limbs, like an insect made out of branches. "Oh pretty girls, pretty girls entering the border, yes?" the faerie asks. It hisses a bit between its teeth.

It was Stiles who first figured out that the path guardians were not guardians at all-- merely freeloaders who lurk about portals to the human world, demanding gifts in exchange for not pulling tricks on them. It's something like a game of trick-or-treat. The treats being anything provided as a gift and the trick being confusion and loss in slow creeping mists. But that doesn't stop Lydia from worrying that this particular faerie's trick might be something more vicious than a loss of direction.

"I am the banshee of Beacon Hills," Lydia says, shifting Devon to her hip while she goes to her pocket for the gift. "And I bring you the gift of chocolate and peanut butter." She holds it out and waits as the faerie tweezes it out of her hand. The Reeses is still wrapped up, and the faerie strokes the packaging lovingly with spindly fingers. 

"Good," Lydia says, still not quite believing that it happened as smoothly as she'd planned. 

And, of course, it doesn't. 

"And you? Pretty thing?" The faerie clatters up the side of a tree and down again, its face close to Cora's. "What do you have for me, lovely little pup?" 

Lydia can see Cora's hackles rise. "You already got your gift. Let us through." 

"I have one gift, yes. One gift. One. One." The faerie leans in, needle-like teeth gleaming. "Two humans entering, yes. One werewolf. One banshee." 

"But last time Derek gave away his shirt, and we all--"

"One pack. One pack and one gift, yes." It licks its lips with a tongue as dry as the grave. "Two people. Two gifts." It lifts its spindle-fingers and strokes the duffel bag with the baby paraphernalia in it. "Two gifts. One sweet." The faerie opens its maw, wide as a shark, and drops the wrapped candy in, swallowing it whole. "One sweet yes, sweet. And one secret." It turns its glittering dark eyes on Cora.

Cora goes white and then red. "What?" 

"A secret, a sweet," the faerie coos. In Lydia's arms, Devon lets out an unhappy squeal and tries to escape to the ground. Lydia presses him closer, suddenly feeling the urge to comfort him, though she knows he is not human. This is his world. The faerie doesn't seem to hear him. Instead it focuses on Cora, swaying from side to side, a cobra ready to strike. "For passage for you, a secret." 

Suddenly, Lydia is not so sure Stiles was right when he said they were probably harmless. 

"Pretty words, pretty tongue," the faerie practically purrs, its face nearly touching Cora's. Then its mouth opens slightly as if for a kiss. 

"Stop!" Lydia cries at the same time that Cora says, "Okay!" 

Cora backs up, visibly trying to get her anger under control. She casts a quick, sorry glance at Lydia before saying again, "Okay." Then she straightens, as if squaring herself for battle. She is an honest girl, and her honesty is, here, a weapon. "I don't want to be left behind. When everyone goes to school. I don't want to be forgotten." 

She's beautiful and sad and small. The faerie arches over her in trembling delight. 

"Are we done?" Lydia snaps, anger rising in her throat. She's afraid she'll cry or scream. She wants to hurt the faerie for making Cora say that. She wants to hug Cora-- to pull her in and smell her cinnamon chai scent and promise her that they will never part.

"Yes, oh yes yes," the faerie says, dancing back on stick-thin legs. "You may go, maybe, to the party, yes?" 

Lydia opens her mouth to say, "What party?" and is interrupted by a burst of laughter. Through the trees, she can see the lights, can hear the sounds, too, as if a whole gathering suddenly appeared out of the night. There's the smell, too, of fruits and fresh bread that fills her nose. It makes her feel hungry, though she knows she shouldn't eat.

Not faerie food. 

Devon stirs again, squirming against her-- a slippery little thing. "Hey," Lydia says, and then, "hold still." 

He bucks and lets out a gleeful cry, his hands catching and releasing air. 

The sound is picked up by the distant party, and soon, the light between the trees is moving, the whole festival relocating itself to follow the sounds Devon is making. Streams of light shoot out from overhead as whole strands of hanging bulbs move snake-like through the boughs. Music follows soon after, filling the air and turning the childish shrieks into something almost melodic. They are making music for the child, she realizes. And she thinks maybe they'll make the exchange easy. Faerie child for human child. 

But when the faeries come, Lydia feels like the breath has been taken out of her. She's never seen so many in one place before. Some are huge as old oaks. Others are small as mushrooms. All emit a faint glow. There are teeth everywhere-- not fierce, focused teeth like in a pack of wolves but sharp and changing as cats' teeth bent to cat will. She suddenly fears for Devon and steps closer to Cora. 

The other girl seems to be shifting through consciousness, overwhelmed by otherworldly smells and sounds. She sways, dark hair glimmering in the light. There's something about her that looks smaller, and Lydia has the fleeting thought that it was her secret keeping her together. 

Cups and plates suddenly appear in faerie hands, and little card tables are unfolded under the lights overhead. And along with these, the food appears. 

It is nothing like food in the rest of the world-- it's somehow riper, richer, more beautiful to behold. There are small crusty breads, great sweet apples whose scent rises up in a heady cloud, pools of nectar fill reservoirs, and trifles lie heavy with fruit. There are bowls filled with something that smells sweet and unnameable, soups in cauldrons and wine that flows freely from carafe to cup. It's all strangely alluring. Lydia has never been hungrier in her life. If she had any less control, she would be face-down in a fruit trifle. 

"Ah! Here is our lovely babysitter. And my sweet Devon," says a woman with long black hair and a human face. 

"Mrs Gonzales?" Cora shakes her head as if trying to clear it. She's pale, almost ghostly in this place.

"Yes, dear."

Lydia feels as though she's been kicked in the gut. They risked-- well, not their lives but certainly time-- to get here. Cora gifted a secret to a hideous faerie. And for what? To find out that the baby they were returning to the faerie realm actually lived in a very human house.

The bones under Cora's skin start to move on their own, as if she's fighting against a change that's being forced on her. "No, I...." She sways. "I thought that he was a changeling. I didn't know you were... a.... you were..." 

The party of faeries laughs, a couple of the smaller ones taking the opportunity to hop up on the shoulders of others or reach sneakily around for drinks not meant for them. Devon giggles and bursts into white blossoms. Lydia nearly drops him in surprise.

"Here, give him to me." Mrs. Gonzales takes him and holds him to her breast. "I'm sorry, dear Cora," she says. Her voice is like the clear ringing of distant bells. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I thought, as you were a werewolf, you would have remembered my scent from the last time you were here." Her eyes suddenly go a pale lavender, and Lydia sucks in air. Mrs. Gonzales had been the path guardian the last time they had been here. "That is why I asked you to watch Devon. I couldn't have him shifting in and out of human form with a human babysitter, could I?" 

Cora steps back, eyes going gold as the faeries laugh again. 

Mrs. Gonzales smiles. "And for your payment, my dear? Money is so crass. So cold. Wouldn't this be better?" Her teeth are too big, too sharp. She holds up a wooden bowl filled with ruby-red pomegranate seeds. While normally pomegranate seeds are like jewels, these are like fire-- each with a glowing heart. 

"No!" Lydia says suddenly. And then, again. "No. We should get back." She casts a quick glance in Cora's direction. "For... our own party." 

Mrs. Gonzales blinks her lavender eyes. 

"That Scott is having," Lydia continues because she's heard that detailed lies are the best. "At his house. With.... Mario Kart." 

"It is very rude to refuse a gift," Mrs Gonzales says, her pupils narrowing and widening rhythmically. 

"I will--" Cora reaches for the bowl. 

"It's not a gift," Lydia says quickly. "You said payment. It was payment. And thank you, but no thank you." She reaches out and takes Cora's hand, twining their fingers together. "We'd rather have-- Cora would rather just be paid like a human." 

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Gonzales asks, turning her weird, pulsating eyes on Lydia. "Are you sure she would rather not be an immortal among fellow immortals? She would never be lonely again." 

"Thanks," Lydia says, squeezing Cora's hand. "But no. She is my friend. And she is coming home with me." 

Cora looks at her, puzzled and beautiful, golden wolf-eyes bleary. 

"You're coming home with me," Lydia repeats. 

"I'm... coming with you," Cora says unsteadily. And then, "I am ... with you." She leans in and takes a deep breath of Lydia's scent.

Mrs. Gonzales leans back in disappointment. "Very well." She strokes the flowers that formed around her Devon's face and some petals fall to the ground. Lydia thinks she has never seen anything quite so lovely or strange. And she wonders, for the first time, if she wouldn't like-- really like-- to have children. "I will place your payment on your Alpha's doorstep tomorrow." 

It's the best they can do. Lydia nods and yanks at Cora's arm until the other girl turns to follow her back on the path. The faeries behind them shriek with laughter.

She's amazed to find that as they trudge out into the darkness, she's shaking.

Cora, on the other hand, seems to settle. Like being away from the faeries she's suddenly able to breathe. But she doesn't let go of Lydia's hand. 

They don't meet the path guardian on the way back. Perhaps it's gone to the feast, or perhaps off to ensnare another human and cheat its way into two gifts. Lydia has no problem thinking of it in terms of a back-alley mugging.

They step through the portal hand-in-hand, and Cora doesn't move away even when they're standing on California soil again. In fact, she moves closer, and her eyes are brown, not gold. She doesn't say a thing, simply stares at Lydia with an expression on her face that could break hearts or make them whole again. 

"I'm thinking maybe I'll pay attention in class and stuff, and maybe I'll get good enough to go to school with Scott or maybe Allison." She doesn't say anything about going to school with Lydia. They both know it's a ridiculous notion, because while Stiles might squeak his way into MIT, there's literally no one else at Beacon Hills who has a ghost of a chance to get in. Well. Stiles and that math teacher ghost who haunted the library. And even then. "And when... for vacations you can come home, right?" 

Lydia is already thinking of it. All of them a little older, a little wiser, around the table that Derek scrounged from someone's curb sitting in chairs that wobble because Scott has decided to become a woodworker. Maybe Stiles would cook something, and Allison would pick the music, and Cora would press their knees together under the table. Finally, Lydia says, "I am going to miss you." 

Cora ducks her head. "I'm going to miss you, too." She's smiling when she looks up, but her eyes are sad. "I'm going to miss everyone." Her mouth quirks up at one side. "Except Derek. Because, you know, he's still going to be here." 

"That's not much of a consolation prize," Lydia says wryly. She squeezes Cora's fingers and starts walking back towards civilization.

"How did you know?" Cora asks, "About the pomegranate?" 

"Because it's common sense. Look where it got Persephone." Lydia flips her hair over her shoulder. 

Cora gives her a puzzled look, and Lydia decides that the public school doesn't teach nearly enough mythology. 

"I wouldn't leave you behind," Lydia says, and it's maybe a little too close to what she means. "Even if it meant you were immortal." It's a confession she's not sure she's ready to make, but it comes out anyway. "I'm selfish, Cora. Even if it means you will die one day, you will die here. And with me." She lowers her eyes to Cora's lips, and wonders. 

Cora kisses her, then, and it's not entirely unexpected. 

Her lips are chapped and the move is a bit clumsy, but it's beautiful. Lydia grabs onto Cora's shoulder and kisses back. It's a human moment in a human world. And Lydia thinks, maybe Cora is a werewolf and maybe she's about as crap at it as her brother, but she's wonderful.

Something opens up in Lydia's chest, flowering and happy. Cora's scent fills her nose, and her taste fills her mouth. Under Lydia's hands, Cora is hard and beautiful. Their breasts press together and some kind of deep fire builds in Lydia's stomach. Arousal shoots through her, and for a moment she worries that Cora can tell.

She can. 

"Wait until we get back," Cora says, smiling almost shyly. It's not like her to be shy, and Lydia finds herself leaning in to bump their shoulders together as they walk home under the very human trees. 

Overhead, the cold, unmoving stars start to sing.


End file.
